Lucky Prisoner

I can’t help but feel that I am a prisoner to the way of the world. I am a product of the generations that came before me and the arbitrary and coincidental location of my birth and upbringing. We all are; yet there are some that embrace the same things that I hold in contempt. Some celebrate the world as it is now. I find myself revolted by it, entirely unsatisfied, disappointed, sad, and even hostile at times.

Many would argue—and many of my closest friends and family have—that I really shouldn’t feel his way, that I should be thankful for all I have, that I am privileged and lucky, that I could have it so much worse. I do not deny any of that. I am not satisfied with the world, but that does not make me ignorant of my position and unable to appreciate the relative pain I may have in contrast to others. I am thankful for what I have. I am lucky. I could have it far worse. Does that mean I am not a prisoner? My prison cell is not one made with iron bars. I am not shackled with physical chains. There is no warden overseeing my every move. My prison is not one of the body, per se, but one of the heart and mind. I feel no freer with my desires than one on the chain gang would of their limbs. The State is my prison. The Government is my warden. The biased and avaricious tyranny of Power are my chains.

I am one of the “lucky” ones. I was born and raised in the US instead of a poverty stricken “developing country” (or whatever term you desire to describe those “backward” countries, the countries that are still being exploited because they haven’t grown powerful enough to exploit yet, those poor regions of the world that have not attained the preeminence and importance of us rich, cultured, and deserving countries) or a region of the globe enveloped by war, violence, despotism, and the ever-present meddling of outside forces.

I grew up hearing and watching the poverty and destruction from a safe distance: school, tv, newspapers, the internet, and social media. I knew it existed—we all did—but it was never the goal to do anything about it, was it? The goal was to know about it; know about it and be thankful for what you had. It was only to be lightly informative. The news outlets would provide the highlights, giving us a taste of the doom and gloom. They would mix it in to the daily intake, but not in overwhelming doses so as to make us feel bad for what we had. It was more like a small amount of poison sprinkled in our food, making us a little sick at times, perhaps, but rarely having any serious or lasting consequences. I see this same pattern today.

Looking back, I feel that those efforts to inform us lucky ones of the world were more to instill us with a sense of thankfulness for our privilege, than to encourage change in our actions or do something to improve the destitute. We should be thankful we don’t live in a dispossessed, war-torn country, suffer from widespread poverty or famine, have an oppressive dictatorial leader, or live in fear of losing our rights and freedoms.

“Look at how bad it is over there! Be thankful for that.” That is the lesson I have learned. That is my interpretation of it anyway. I have no doubt others see it differently.

And what more could we do for them than we currently do: slowly lead them down the righteous path that we have chosen for them by practicing our modern-day imperialism? Isn’t that enough?

So, yes, I am thankful that I do not live in absolute fear of starvation or of oppression or of military strikes on my neighborhood. I am thankful that I am able to speak my mind on things without fear of punishment. I am thankful that I do not have it worse than I currently do. I am thankful for many things, but that does not disqualify me from not feeling free, and it should not exclude anyone else from feeling the same.

Because something could be worse does not mean that it shouldn’t be better. Comparing a freedom given to us by a self-designated power to straight oppression proves nothing except that the one offering the comparison knows very little of which they speak or are intentionally offering a false equivalent.

The warden can tell their prisoners that they are free to do anything they want so long as it is not against the rules. None of the prisoners will be fooled into believing that they are free. The soft spoken and gentle touch of oppression that we have today is not as apparent as some of the other examples around the world, but that does not mean it should be acceptable. The exercise of power over others, lesser or greater, is still using power to control others.

A freedom is granted only at the establishment of power by one entity over another. So, while I may be free to do something, it is only at the pleasure of that power which reigns over me that this freedom is given. Who gave this entity power over me? Was it me and I don’t remember? Did I come into this world after making a deal with it? Who is it that gave such immense and widespread power over people both living and yet to be born? The better question is, why do we continue to let it have that power over us? That kind of power should not exist without full and willing participation; and it should never exist as the Leviathans we see today. Power over the individual is something that should only ever be granted, not established by decree, fiat, or birth.

And so, a prisoner I will remain until I am able to break these chains and rid myself of the prison I feel so heavily on my heart.